


Space Chat

by yeaka



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies), Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Exhibitionism, M/M, Masturbation, Sex Toys, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-12
Updated: 2014-04-12
Packaged: 2018-01-19 01:41:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1450615
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hikaru ‘video’ chats with a mystery man.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Space Chat

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: I woulda left the pairing a mystery, but then, this is AO3’s first Mudd romance, apparently, so I’ll just swoop in and take credit for that atrocity, thanks. 
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own Star Trek or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

Still in his uniform but relaxed and done with coffee, Hikaru sinks into his chair. It was another boring shift on a Neutral Zone patrol—absolutely nothing of interest—and he’s been looking forward to his favourite pastime all day.

The program he starts up on his console is an encrypted one, set to shield itself from the usual starship monitoring. It’s been designed specifically for this purpose—for the lonely, space-faring crewmembers stuck all the way up in the stars—but a part of Hikaru knows that he’s on the best ship in the fleet, and chances are, _someone’s_ noticed the hidden program in their computer’s midst. He likes to think that that someone just doesn’t care—Captain Kirk, he’d like to think, would probably look the other way, just like he does when Dr. McCoy obtains illegal alcohol or Scotty gambles in Engineering. 

This isn’t _quite_ like any of that. In a way, it’s a whole lot more interesting.

There’s a list of contacts that flashes onto the right side of Hikaru’s screen, all under code names, of course. He’d still recognize anyone he met offline, but given the sheer size of the Federation, meeting any of his fellow participants face-to-face by accident is so unlikely it’s nearly impossible. He absently eyes the list before deciding, simply because he needs some excitement during this boring mission, to click the randomized button.

The computer takes a moment to whir through its databanks. It’s searching, he knows, past endless relays, bouncing off other frequencies, stretching out into the universe to find someone else who just so happens to be on this special program, keyed in to his preferences, which aren’t much—male-ish, humanoid. He gave up a long time ago caring if it was anyone actually human or precisely fitting Earth’s narrow gender definitions. Too full a chest or too many limbs and his body just won’t react, but one of his favourite contacts is Andorian: one of four distinct genders and undeniably alien, blue skin and all. 

Reclining back in his chair, Hikaru lets the computer search, staring at the blank screen where his nighttime rendezvous is sure to show. He checks his own camera peripherally—the tiny, circular lens is fixed along the top rim of his computer, staring up at him. He rakes a hand through his straight black hair but tells himself it’s probably fine—he keeps it too short to ever really be messy. Then his hand drops to his lap, ready for when the fun starts. 

Finally, the computer beeps to an end, and a little archaic box pops up in the middle of the screen, sporting the Federation Standard words: _Hello there._

Hikaru blinks, staring.

He waits for the screen to flicker to an image, but it doesn’t. 

He briefly considers setting the program to search again. Maybe he’s found a nocturnal species that prefers the darkness, which isn’t exactly Hikaru’s cup of tea, or maybe it’s someone under-confident in their looks. Hikaru’s not here to talk anyone up; he installed this program for one thing only. After a moment of thought, he decides to give it a short chance—at least this is different, and isn’t that sort of intriguing? Hikaru does enjoy new experiences, generally speaking. 

He says into the camera, “Hi.” It’s a useless word, and a second later he adds, just in case, “Your camera’s off.”

Another box pops up, larger this time in order to accommodate more words.

_You have a cute voice._

Instinctively, a grin tugs at the corner of Hikaru’s lips. _This_ is more what he’s used to—straight to the chase. Most of those that use this program are on Starfleet ships and have busy, all-consuming jobs; they don’t have time to dick around. Cutting to the best part of it, Hikaru replies coyly, “Is that all? I know _my_ camera’s on.”

The screen amends instantly: _You have a cute body._

“Thanks.” Leaning back in his chair, Hikaru tilts his head to toss a stray strand out of his eyes. “Why don’t you turn your view on and return the favour?”

A second passes, and then: _You’ll have to earn that._

Hikaru’s eyebrows lift instantly. He doesn’t have his search programmed for any fetishes, dominance games or otherwise, but he hasn’t filtered them out, either. This person’s taking a chance trying that on him right off the bat, but Hikaru finds it’s a chance he doesn’t mind. Some days, he’s sick of taking orders, but others... well... Captain Kirk hasn’t been on his back in a while, and the thought of Kirk being on him is far from unpleasant. There are some people he’d more than happily take orders from. Without a view of his mystery man, Hikaru’s free to the images of his own captain sending him such a covert order. Oddly turned on by the prospect, Hikaru asks, “What do I have to do?”

When the answer isn’t immediate, Hikaru figures his partner is smirking on the other side. The usual instincts to dim the lights in his quarters hits him, but for once, he doesn’t bother—apparently he’ll be putting on a show, after all. While he waits for more instructions, he rubs his hand slowly over his chest, fingers spread to press the fabric in, middle fingertip brushing over his left nipple beneath the gold material. The screen flickers to: _You don’t look very comfortable in that shirt, Pavel._ Hikaru’s eyes flash at his own screenname: a cruel but calculated choice on his part. Thoughts of his friend thrown into the mix always make Hikaru that little bit warmer, and he grins. 

“I could be more comfortable, I suppose.” He checks the name of his mystery date on the upper right hand corner: _SmuggledToys69_. He snorts to himself—generic and uncreative. But it doesn’t matter. He wonders if the number reference means he’s conversing with a human, but, he supposes, it doesn’t matter. “I wonder what I should do about it.”

_You should take it off, nice and slow, and show me more of that pretty body of yours._

It’s Hikaru’s turn to smirk— _now_ they’re getting somewhere. He considers saying that he doesn’t take orders from anyone but his captain, but he finds his hands already moving, fingers slipping below the hem of his gold tunic. He starts to roll it up his stomach, all too aware of the black, long-sleeved undershirt still clinging to his skin, and he pulls his uniform slowly over his head. Then he tosses it to the floor behind him, setting to run both hands through his dark hair, smoothing it back into place. Without another picture on his screen, he can see the faint outline of his own reflection. His tongue slips out to roam his bottom lip as he finger-combs his fringe back to perfection. “Better?”

A box pops up to reply: _Naughty thing. I think you know I meant both._

Lifting an eyebrow, Hikaru strategically murmurs, “I don’t know anything.” Not even what his playmate looks like. He’s used to not knowing who the other person is—hardly anyone uses their real name—but at least he should get visuals. His hands fall back to his lap, not about to make it too easy. 

_You’re lucky you’re not close enough for me to spank. Now get that flimsy thing off before I make you punish yourself._

“Punish myself?” Though he doubts he’d actually play along that far, Hikaru’s definitely curious. “What exactly would you have me do?”

_I’d send you a toy, and you’d know well enough how to use it once you got it._

Hikaru bites the inside of his mouth to restrain his grin—though his quarters contain an extraordinary collection of both plants and weaponry, his bedroom collection isn’t nearly so advanced as he’d like. Being on a high-profile starship does make seedy dealings somewhat difficult. He’s about to ask just kind of toy he’d be getting when another box appears.

_Take off your shirt. Now._

Hikaru listens. 

He’s getting into it now, and though he’s curious about punishments, he’s curious about a great many other things—is he really dealing with an erotic toy smuggler? There’re so many types out there Hikaru has yet to try, and he’s sure plenty of alien ones he’s never even heard about. He wants to know more. But mostly, he wants to get more, get close, be naked, and his cock’s stirring in his lap from his thoughts alone, never mind the dirty orders from a stranger.

Hikaru’s a lot faster removing his undershirt, though he’s aware it probably looks just as good—he’s nearly grown out of this one, and it’s so figure-tight that it hugs his skin like a second glove, clinging in too many places. He drops it behind himself and lounges back in his chair, giving the camera a good view of his taut stomach, lightly traced with a six-pack. His figure is trim, lithe, but he’s still well built, and he’s arrogantly pleased when it takes a second for the next message to come through—he likes to think he’s being examined. 

Without further preamble, he’s told: _Somebody likes the gym. Pinch your nipples for me._

“I do a bit of fencing,” Hikaru confesses, arms lazily moving to comply. The air in his quarters is kept decently warm, so his nipples aren’t yet hard enough to pinch—he has to start with rubbing them beneath his index fingers, trying to coax them out. His head tips back as he plays with his chest, though his lap is where he wants to put his hands. Only because he wasn’t told to yet, he refrains. He teases his nipples into little pebbles and pinches them hard beneath his fingertips, tugging once and then holding on. It makes him wonder what sort of toys his mystery man could clip to them, or pierce or stimulate them more with. He bites his bottom lip, stifling a groan. 

_Run one hand down your body, nice and slow._

Pleased, Hikaru obeys. He traces the line of his stomach, slips through the dark curls just above his pants, and cups himself through the thick fabric. 

_Have you ever tried sounding, Pavel?_

Biting his lip harder, Hikaru shakes his head. Not yet. With an experienced partner, he wouldn’t mind trying. With the name attached to the end, he can’t help but picture poor Chekov trembling in Hikaru’s arms, taking a thin, metal rod inside his dick for the first time. Hikaru’s heard of the Klingon ones that come thick and bumpy, and the Orion ones that wriggle once they’re inside and glow hot. Hikaru squeezes his quickly-hardening cock.

_Why don’t you show me your cock, and I’ll see what size I should send you._

Hikaru’s instantly holding his fly, but another box quickly shows: _Not like that. Do it properly. Stand up and let me see your creamy thighs._

So Hikaru pushes off his chair and does, taking down his fly and grabbing his underwear and pants all at once. He pushes them down his waist, then slowly down his legs, bending to accommodate, and then he steps out, black socks still on, and he stands in front of the camera, breathing heavy in anticipation, until he’s told: _Now, turn around and show me that tight ass._

So Hikaru does. He turns and puts a leg on his chair, arching his back sensually the way he’s seen it done in pornos, and he pushes himself towards the camera— _this_ is what he gets on these chats for. Usually, he’s coaxing others into giving him this view, but he doesn’t mind returning the favour. He even reaches behind himself and grabs two handfuls of his firm ass cheeks, and he wrenches them apart, showing off his hole. He twitches it and stares over his shoulder, waiting for a response. His cock is hard. It nudges against the back of his chair, and Hikaru forces himself not to rut into it. He’s disciplined enough for these games. He wonders if the man really would send him a toy. Would he have to pay for it? He doesn’t know how many credits sex toys go for, but right now, his dick assures him it’d be completely worth it. 

He turns around when he hears the ping of a new box. _It’s been a while since I saw a butt that firm. Bet half my vibrators wouldn’t even fit in you._

Hikaru laughs humorlessly. He’d certainly like to try. He’s just about to ask what kinds the man has when he’s told: _Enough with the foreplay. Spread your legs and touch your cock, but don’t you dare come until I tell you to._

Hikaru obeys. As much as he can, anyway. He doesn’t know if he’ll be able to hold off with the way this is going, but he does spread his thighs and spit in his palm. He grabs his shaft with one hand, the other dipping down to cup his balls. He rolls them gently around while he pumps his cock, lashes fluttering as his cheeks warm. _This_ is what he got this program for. Never mind that it’s still just his hand—having someone watch him is intoxicating, not to mention someone ordering him to do it. He just wishes he could get a similar view back, but then, he tells himself, this has its advantages. This round is all about _him_. He doesn’t have to worry about what someone else is into, doesn’t have to play director, doesn’t have to bend to alien whims. It’s just him, his cock, and his audience. He pumps himself harder and faster than the spit should allow for, but Hikaru’s always liked an edge of roughness in things. The thought of how much more rough the other man’s toys could make this only spurs him on. He’s already panting when he’s asked, _Have you ever had Rigelian beads in your ass?_

Hikaru shakes his head and groans, his hand now squeezing while it strokes. 

_They’re a special kind, those ones. Once inside, the ‘beads’ expand to fit the shape of your channel. Quite stimulating, really. I hear they make you feel quite full._

“Hear?” Hikaru mumbles. He has to force himself to concentrate on the screen, not get lost in the pleasure of his own hand. 

_I don’t partake myself, you see. I’d much rather give my goods to pretty young things like you and watch them go to work..._

There’re probably some identity clues in that, but Hikaru couldn’t care less at this point—he thinks of his ass being perfectly full and he moans—if he could, he’d ask where to get them. But he’s too busy writhing and fucking his own hand. 

_In fact, I have a number of toys that I think would look quite good on you. You know, the Orions have actually invented a lollipop that lets you feel the licks on your own cock. They come with some very nice rings to slip around your shaft..._

Hikaru didn’t know, and now he feels like an idiot—where’s he been all this time? He should’ve been off testing sex toys, forget the Enterprise. He’s half aware he’s being irrational, as sex always makes him, but the rest of him just wants to show up at a brothel and demand to be fucked with all manner of plastic. He’s asked, _Would you like that, Pavel? If I sent you some nice things to play with?_

And Hikaru moans, “ _Yes,_ ” feeling filthy and horny as fuck. He’s not going to last much longer, and he struggles to ask, “C-can I...?”

_You can come once you’ve told me when you’re going to be on tomorrow night._

He hadn’t planned on partaking then, but he’s in no position to deny the other man. Rifling quickly through his brain, Hikaru grunts, “Twenty one hundred, Earth Standard.” He has to stop pumping and just hold himself tightly—he’s going to burst. “Can I—”

_Come._

The single word is all Hikaru needs; he lets go and lets himself spill all over his hand, spraying out as he bursts with a cry. The knowledge that he’s being watched makes the orgasm exponentially more thrilling, and he shivers as he finishes, head thick with fog and body suddenly very, very heavy. He slips back in his chair, warm in the afterglow, and blinks at the screen. 

A visual comes on suddenly, the standard black wiping out for the view of a brightly coloured cabin, with a thickset man in eccentric clothes sitting dead center. His hair is thinning and his ridiculous mustache is curled at the ends, completing the picture of absurdity. Hikaru, taken completely off guard, can only blink and stare.

“Harry Mudd, at your service,” the man—Mudd, apparently—tells him in a boisterous, over-the-top voice. “I had quite a fun time tonight, my little minx, and I’m very much looking forward to our discussion tomorrow, where I’ll be happy to discuss your purchase order in more detail.”

“Purchase... order...?” Hikaru mumbles numbly, still shocked. This man is definitely not his type, and it hits him belatedly that he’s completely naked, covered in his own cum. He reaches back behind his chair for his shirt while Mudd goes on.

“Yes, yes, of course—or couldn’t you tell that I am, in fact, the galaxy’s premium exotic toy dealer. But never fear, my pretty sparrow! You’ve earned yourself at least one toy free of charge. You can tell me your information tomorrow night, and I’ll be happy to send the newest model of the Luxurian Vibrators from Mrennenimus II—when you’ve pleased them enough, they spill a unique aphrodisiac out the tip—quite popular along the Sagittarius Arm! But I digress. I’m afraid I must get back to my ship now, but I’ll be sure to catch you at twenty one hundred hours tomorrow. Thank you for the brilliant show, Pavel!”

And, without further ado, the picture clicks off, devoid of any images or boxes, leaving Hikaru alone with his shock. 

His first instinct is to block Mudd. He doesn’t need smugglers that look twice his age soliciting him during sex. But then he tries to picture a vibrator that comes once he’s pleased _it_ , and, though it’s currently spent and flagging, his dick doesn’t at all mind the idea. 

He’ll... have to think about it. He sighs and clicks his computer off, musing, not for the first time, just what the _real_ Pavel would be like with his ass full of plastic cock, ordered to come through a console.


End file.
